"Poor little Cricket, she wanted a playmate," he teased.
"She did! I can't rub my knees together and make a 'crick,' you know, so I had to wait till you came to. I'd have pushed you overboard, if it hadn't happened to-day. I'm so full of unused pep, I'm ready to pop!"
"Well, come on. I'm awake. Now what?"
"Let's warm up," she said, and was up and off down the deck in one spring. Jerry pursued. She raced around the whole deck twice, then waited for him to catch up with her.
"Puffing, Jerry? You're getting fat!" she jeered.
"You impudent little beggar. I'd like to shake you."
"Try it."
This was the opening mistake in what proved to be a perfect succession of diplomatic errors on the part of Jerry Paxton. It was as if the lid had popped off the cricket. She followed at Jerry's heels every minute. She sang, she talked, she whistled, she played tricks. She was the great, original pest, which no one could subdue, and Jerry laughed at her. Mrs. Brendon ordered her off when Jerry was working at the studies, but for the rest of the time she preyed upon them all.
Her father rowed her in public, one day, and lost his temper.
"Don't be a brat!" said he.